


Winter is a Place

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon, Castle Lecter, M/M, Season 3, That Cemetery, amplified scene, woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 03:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15940625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: Finally he thinks he understands. Or is beginning to.





	Winter is a Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zigzagwanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my friend ZigZagWanderer with love and quietude.

She died here. He can tell. That soft leach into the earth. The sough of wind in the trees. She died here, and there was nothing Hannibal could do.

“Nothing happened to me. I happened.”

He hadn’t believed it then, and he didn’t think he believed it now. He ran his hand over the surface of the stone, tracing the letters. It didn’t take much of any kind of feeling to know that this was Hannibal’s beginning, just as he was beginning to believe he might be Hannibal’s ending.

When a shot rang out his thoughts scattered. The woods, and the castle, were inhabited then, and not just by ghosts. He looked again at the stone. Someone had buried her, put up the marker. Honoured her. Someone.

The grounds spoke of enchantment. Not the kind with singing crickets, or dancing clocks. The kind with bloodied footprints, unspeakable things, terror. The stillness spoke not of absence but of some terrible presence. Waiting. Lurking. The stories that keep children truly fearful. Adults too, in the dark wretched blanket of the night.

He shuddered. Pulled his collar up. Listened.

There was a path from the cemetery to the castle itself. Even the stones seemed reluctant. Hardly any wonder that Hannibal stayed away. Though he could see that someone was resident. Who, he wondered. Who could stay here. 

The prisoner made some sense of it all. A prisoner. A guard. A watcher through the night. Wasn’t that some archetype? Some myth? He almost regretted what he wrought. But only almost. Later he would probably come to regret it further. Hannibal’s mistake? Maybe his.


End file.
